Preview

They say, Ruby you're like a song
You just don't know right from wrong
And in your eyes I see heartaches for me
Right from the start, who stole my heart?
Ruby, it's you

I hear your voice and I must come to you (must come to you)
I have no choice, so what else can I do ? (what else can I do?)

They say, Ruby you're like a flame
Into my life you came
And though I should beware, still I just don't care
You thrill me so, I only know
Ruby, it's you
(Ruby by Ray Charles)
 

In my darkest moments, in those deep times of the despair of loneliness, I wonder if I have the strength to go on, to continue the chase.
It’s always at night.
During the day, I have much to do, much to fill my lonely hours but at night there is no escape, no hope. Usually, I paint. A single light and the noise of the night slipping through the closed curtains as I labour with the arrogant canvas, fighting to meet its challenge, to fill it with life.
Often, I just paint her face.
When I’ve finished, her face staring back at me from the unfinished canvas, I sit with my smouldering cigarette, bare feet on the rung of the stool and stare at that face, always asking the same questions.
How has she changed?
I have changed. That, I cannot hide. I see the changes, the experiences and the pain in my own eyes so clearly in the mirror everyday and wonder if it’s obvious to others. Hopefully, people are too obtuse and selfish to notice anything in the eyes of others.
But she would see the changes immediately as I will see hers.
How has she changed?
In the end, it doesn’t matter; I just hope she is alive.
It is that hope that continues to keep me alive, keep me vibrant with life.
If I discover she is dead, I don’t know what I will do, how I will continue.
If I would want to continue.
And then, I paint over her face, removing the evidence before falling into my bed for a few hours sleep.